“I think I get it, yes.”
“CSA — CSA, they’re one and the same.”
“We could say, like Black Hawk — Black Hawk.”
“That’s it! War is war!”
Then, leaning close: “I ask you right out, Mr. Cresap: Have you bought in on this cotton or haven’t you?”
“Not actually, Lieutenant Ball.”
“Then don’t! Save your tin!”
“I’ll remember what you say. Thanks.”
He called the woman over, took the name of her son, and said he’d do what he could to get the boy released. Then he leaned back and started in again about the old days of the smugglers, in the time of the Texas Republic, when all of a sudden he stopped, as a man in moleskins, jackboots, and felt hat leaned over toward him. We were seated facing each other, he behind the desk, I beside it, my back to the lobby. He looked up, said: “Mr. Burke, I’m sorry I have no news — we’re taking nobody upriver until the occupation is complete.”
“But I must get to Shreveport,” said the familiar voice, “before I leave for Springfield, to see to me interests there. I’ve a tremenjous opportunity to buy a parcel of cotton on the Sabine, back of the town—”
“The Pulaski dump?”
“Aye, a cache of five thousand bales, no less!”
“But the Army has boats too. Why not see them?”
“The Army and I have our differences.”
“Well with this Army, who wouldn’t have differences — we have a few ourselves. But for two million in cotton, I wouldn’t be too damned proud. Why don’t you hop a wagon? You don’t need a pass for that.”
“ ’Tis an idea; I’ll think it over.”
They batted it back and forth, and perhaps to change the subject, Ball suddenly asked: “Did the little lady cross? To visit that grave in Pineville? Her mother’s, I think you said?”
“She’s — been a bit under the weather.”
“She still has Powell’s pass?”
“Aye — she remembers’m in her prayers.”
“Whenever she’s ready, any cutter’ll take her.”
“And she’s grateful, have no doubt of it.”
“Funny, Mr. Burke, I’ve often thought about it: How could they lay out this town so neat, with no place to bury people? No cemeteries here, you know. What’s the idea? Do they figure to live forever?”
“As they tell it, many of’m do.”
“Not Powell, unfortunately.”
“Have you word of the wretch who killed’m?”
“Not yet. But God help him when we catch up.”
“To that a brace of amens.”
They came back to her again, Burke saying how “slimsy” she’d felt today, “especially with the rain.” How long it went on, I don’t know, but more than just a few seconds, as I had my back to the lobby, and Burke couldn’t see who was there — and long enough for stuff to go through my head. I thought: Since when was she “slimsy” today? She hadn’t looked slimsy to me, and in fact was chock full of mean, rotten ginger. Then I thought: If she wasn’t slimsy, why should he say she was? To cover not using her pass, but then I thought: Why hasn’t she used it, for instance? I thought all that without caring too much. But then suddenly it hit me like a sledge: Suppose she’s not going to use it? Suppose it was just a trick to get Powell’s specimen signature, so Burke could forge the receipt the Navy wouldn’t give? And suppose that’s why Powell got killed, so he couldn’t deny his name in court? For one heartbeat, she was guilty as hell to me and one heartbeat again, I felt the same feeling as Booth had had in his eyes. But then, as always, came the excuse I made for her: Suppose, I thought, she knew nothing about the pass? Suppose he’d got it for her so he could forge the receipt, and conveniently forgot to tell her? That would tie in with the way she’d acted with me, bragging about the receipt, and certainly believing he had one. It would also put her, as soon as the Navy caught up — and figured why Powell was shot — right on the gallows step. Because, when they searched Burke’s papers, they’d find the pass in her name, the receipt with identical signature, and nothing to show she hadn’t been in on the trick.
By the time he looked down and saw me, I was well on my way, I knew, to solving two or three mysteries, all in one fell swoop. “Hello, Burke,” I said.
“... What are you doing here, Cresap?”
“Was talking to the lieutenant. Am talking to you.”
“What business have you with me?”
“You’ll find out. Thanks, Lieutenant Ball.”
As Ball, kind of puzzled, gave me a wary wave, I led to the DEMOCRAT desk and took my seat behind it, but then saw that Burke hadn’t moved. “Of course,” I called, “IF YOU WANT THE NAVY TO HEAR—”
He’d heard me bellow before, and came in five quick steps, pulling up a chair so he could sit close. But I kicked it out from under him. I said: “Stand when talking to me.
“Talking to you? About what?”
“Couldn’t we say a slight case of murder?”
“Are you out of your mind? Whose?”
“Lieutenant Powell’s, perhaps — whose name you got on a pass, so she could cross the river; then used his specimen signature, to forge one on the receipt, the Navy’s receipt for your cotton, as you forged the informer notes last month down in New Orleans; and then you killed him so he couldn’t deny it in court!”
“Cresap, I think you’re crazy.”
“I don’t, that’s the difference — and the question is, what do we do about it? I wasn’t here, I didn’t see it, I don’t have to turn you in — it all hinges on the other people involved, the ones named in your written agreements, as to whether they’re guilty too. If not, I can’t turn you in, but I can destroy your papers, to cut you out, and them out, of every dime of the hundred-twenty thousand you thought you’d make from this crime. If they are as guilty as you are, I’m turning you all three in — you, your partner, and her. I don’t care how pretty she is, or whether you love her or not, or whether anyone does, she’s going to swing!” I let that soak in as he stood there licking his lips, then went on: “So that’s what we’re doing now — going into it, to see what’s what, and who gets his neck broke. Come on, we’re paying them a call — now.”
“ ’Twill suit me very well.”
“Then fine, let’s go.”
“But I’ve a suggestion, me boy — when we’ve explained the thing to Adolphe, and to Mignon Fournet, of course, why don’t we all go to my house — after all, me papers are there. ’Tis quite a decent place I took on Second Street in the block below the market, back of Adolphe’s store — we can make ourselves comfortable there, and I’ll prove to you once and for all how mistaken you are.”
“If they agree, your house sounds fine.”
“Then ’tis settled, and let’s be off!”